GONE
by C.M. Oliver is eastwoodgirl
Summary: On September 15, 2018, award-winning adventurer Blaine Anderson bade farewell to his husband Kurt and his toddler Xavier and set off an epic journey. His aim: paddle a sea kayak solo for 1600 km across the Tasman Sea from Australia to New Zealand. This is a glimpse of his 30 days at sea –told thru his video diary blog entries and recollections from Kurt... AU


**GONE **(T; DRAMA/ANGST; KH/BA;)

_**SUMMARY:**__ On September 15, 2018, award-winning adventurer Blaine Anderson bade farewell to his husband Kurt and his toddler Xavier and set off an epic journey. His aim: paddle a sea kayak solo for 1600 km across the Tasman Sea from Australia to New Zealand. This is a glimpse of his 30 days at sea –told thru his video diary blog entries and recollections from Kurt –of a man born to defy gravity and push boundaries. AU. Based on a true story._

_**WARNINGS**__: AU. Future-Fic. Angst. Language. Presumed CD. _

_**WORDCOUNT**__ (before summary and notes and notes)__**: **__3, 953_

_**RATING: T **__(PG-13) –mostly for mentions of extreme sports and CD._

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_**A/N:**_**This one-shot is based on the true story of adventurer Andrew McAuley, published in the June 2011 issue of The Reader's Digest Asia (Philippine Edition) as told by his wife, Vicki. No copyright infringement intended. Glee belongs to You-Know-Who (no, not THAT one). Enjoy. Feedback is greatly appreciated.**

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**GONE**

**By C.M. Oliver**

**2013**

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_For the one who got away. You know who you are_

_For the one who never was. We never did get far._

_For the one who holds my heart. You are only one._

_For the one who is always there. You will never be gone._

-C.

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**FROM THE VIDEO DIARY OF BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(Uploaded: September 16, 2018; GMT +12 10:03 a.m.)**

"_Hey world," Blaine grins at the camera, his wide-toothed smile belying the dread rooted deep within his soul. Nevertheless, he trudges on._

"_Hey Kurt, Xav…"_

_At the mention of the two most important people in his life, the honey-eyed man finds himself uttering a silent prayer. _Oh God_, Blaine whispers to the tranquil waters surrounding him. _Dear God, please let me finish in one piece._ Blaine closes his eyes briefly before facing the unseen audience beyond the thick lens._

"_I made it here…First day. Conditions are optimum. I –"Another deluge of tears overwhelms him. His voice becomes very weak, almost frightened._

"_I can't wait to be back. I miss you guys."_

_The red 'record' indicator blinks off. Blaine is again left to his own devices in the middle of the big, bad scary abyss of the ocean._

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**FROM THE JOURNAL** **OF KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(September 16, 2018)**

People ask me how it is to be married to a man of adventure, a nomad, a wanderer. The honest answer I can only give is that I don't know –for the very sole reason that I have no idea how it is not to be.

I met Blaine in junior year of high school and like with all those cliché romances, I fell in love with him at first sight. I remember how those eyes of melted gold arrested mine the moment he turned to face me and told me his name. We were in the middle of an outdoor inter-school activity that I had, admittedly, reluctantly attended for extra credit in my Civics class. I wasn't really your outdoorsy guy, au contraire. I'd rather stay within the comforts of my own room any given day and surround myself with convenient technology.

But that day in Fall, something in Blaine tapped into the carefree young soul in me. Needless to say, that one fateful meeting changed me –the extent of which, I would only come to know much later on. While he patiently explained to me the basics of cleaning up graffiti, my mind was already busy calculating the number of hours of shopping with Cedes and Tina that I had to forgo in favor of visiting the DIY store in search of eco-friendly paint. And when his slightly paint-covered hand gently touched my vintage Marc Jacobs-clad arm as he directed my first stroke against the vandalized wall of the local Target, I felt my heart skip a beat. And when he paused at that same moment to lock gazes with me once more, I knew that we both knew that whatever it was that was going on between us: electricity, sparks, minute explosions –that it was the **real **thing.

Before meeting Blaine, I was a cynic –being gay and bullied for it, the main reason among other things. But that one moment of singularity was enough to make a believer out of me, Kurt Hummel.

Many would say that our love story was made for romance novels, the stuff that only happens in fairy tales. I would agree to this observation to a certain extent. We were each other's firsts in so many ways; we completed each other; we were soul mates. He zigged where I zagged. We complemented each other in every way. He was quiet yet outgoing; I was loud yet introverted. His music was more TOP 40 and current; Mine was classic and Broadway. I was a homebody, believe it or not, and would rather spend a quiet evening in the company of close friends. He was a born wanderer, always seeking the thrill of adventure with relative strangers, always in danger. It was the aspect of him that I had always been wary of. And with good reason.

I love Blaine more than life itself, a fact that I'm proud to say no one can contest. But just how do I continue on when every time he steps out of our home, I am faced with the frightening uncertainty of his return?

Just how many times have I had to patch up my friend, best friend, boyfriend, fiancé, husband, father of my child up and nurse him back to health after suffering a nasty fall off of a cliff? After breaking his wrist in a mountain-climbing mishap? After almost drowning in the rapids in the Amazon? How many times have I watched him disappear from view through a pair of rusty binoculars as he walked, ran swam, jumped away to another God-knows-what?

When that someone is your heart, your soul, your life, what do you do? How do you deal? If you ask me now as you did then, you'd get the same answer.

It is all about choosing to believe. Believing in fate, hope, life… Believing in the inevitability of the Grand Design… Believing in the mighty power of love, as cliché as it may sound.

For a skeptic, it is a very scary thought. It is very much like jumping off a cliff blind-folded, or facing the tall waves of the Pacific during monsoon season, or falling in love with the first ever person you meet and then banking on an eternity with them, no holds barred.

But, it is something I have learned to accept. Eventually. Whole-heartedly.

The day Blaine last bid me goodbye for his next adventure, it was just like any other day. I was busy flipping pancakes for our 3-year old son Xavier. Xav is my biological child through a surrogate. But I swear he is becoming more and more like Blaine everyday. Currently, he is strapped in his highchair, pretending to scale 'Mount Pancakes' with his SpongeBob SquarePants fork, his bright blue eyes sparkling every time he lands a chocolate syrup-laden bite in his tiny mouth. He makes a rocket-like noise as he does it, eliciting a chuckle from his other father. Blaine enters the kitchen fresh from the shower, his curls damp, the thin white undershirt he was wearing clinging tightly to his daredevil-toned torso. He ruffles Xav's hair playfully and takes a seat at the breakfast table.

"How's Mount Pancakes, Xav?"

"Pan-cakes? Go BOOM! Go BOOM!" Xav giggles as he lands another bite in. "BOOM! Dad! BOOM!"

"Oh, exploding mountains then?" Blaine asks him. "A VOLCANO?"

"Vol-cano?" Xav looks at Blaine then up at me, before breaking out in a wide-toothed grin so much like Blaine's. "Vol-cano?"

"Hey, you learned a new word," I smiled as I gave my little one a buss on the cheek, expertly avoiding any spot of chocolate. I set down a fresh stack of pancakes on the table. "Good job!"

"Good job, Dee!" Xav echoes me. Somewhere in his young mind he decided that since he has two fathers, Blaine is to be called 'Dad' and I, 'Dee'.

"Good job indeed," Blaine grins as he reaches across the table to give me a quick kiss on the lips, "morning, Babe."

"Morning," I returned the greeting. "All set for your flight to Australia?" My question is filled in with an eager nod. I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips. "I wish you'd let us see you off at the airport."

"Babe," Blaine spears a forkful of pancakes and swirls it around the chocolate syrup on his plate. When he is satisfied on how drenched it is, he slides it in his mouth and moans. The sound he makes almost shoots directly to my groin. Almost. My three-year old is in the room, lest I forget. Blaine stabs the stack once more, like it had offended him for some reason before turning to me. "I will most definitely miss your cooking when I'm gone."

"You mean when you're **away**," I corrected him. "Just that?" I raise an eyebrow. Blaine grins in that lopsided manner I am certain he has patented.

"A lot more than that."

"Then, don't go."

The thing is, in the almost 8 years of our relationship (with 4 years of it as a married couple) I have never –not once –ever told him NO. No matter how much it pains me to keep seeing him risk his life on countless occasions doing what I deem on my own private thoughts as stupid stunts, never have I ever told him NOT to do it. You see, my husband is the type of person that the more you tell him not to, the more it excites him –a rebel. Yes, I do express my doubts regarding his chosen lifestyle from time to time, but never an outright forbiddance. It wasn't how our relationship worked. I operated as his conscience and the voice of reason. I wasn't his keeper. He is a born wanderer. I am his grounding point. I am the one he always comes back to, victorious or not. I have long accepted this role. So I have no idea what was it that went down differently that very day.

My pronouncement was met by surprised amber eyes. Then, a soft smile.

"I always come back. I will." Blaine fixes me with that intense gaze of his that he usually employs whenever he tries to convince me to switch our usual brand of sugar-free cereal to the diabetes-inducing frosted ones. Note the operative word, being ''**try''.** I counter with my customary bitch-please glare. And as our time-immemorial routine goes, even before I can argue the perils of too much sugar, Blaine is ready with his puppy dog look that almost always seals the deal.

"Babe, you need to drive Xav to playschool anyway." He manages to say in between bites of more chocolate-drenched pancakes. "It'll upset your schedule if you guys see me off the airport. Sam will be there anyway. And Wes will meet me at Brisbane International. I'll be fine."

That scene had been a long-standing affair between Blaine and I. Long before, we have decided to forgo teary goodbyes. In fact, we never say the word. I personally abhor it, more so when dealing with a thrill-junkie husband who never understood the meaning of the word 'danger'. We are both aware that no adventure is worth dying for, let us be clear on that account. Life is more precious. The paradox is that some of us need to put it at risk to really understand that. Blaine is exactly** that.**

So we sweep the unaired sentiments under the rug like we always do: Blaine with his hopeful promises of a triumphant, unscathed return, and I, of a fervent desire to never see him leave again after. We settle for a long kiss and a brief hug. He bundles himself up and picks up his gear. He gives Xav a kiss on the head and an extra pinch on the nose. He climbs into his Prius and backs out of the driveway. I watch him from the window of our living room. He gives me one customary wave before finally driving off to the airport. I watch him disappear little by little until I could no longer see him or his car.

I stay in that spot longer than usual, holding my breath. I utter a silent prayer to a God that I do not believe in for my husband's safe return.

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**FROM 'The Wandering Man' –BLAINE'S BLOG **

**(September 2, 2018)**

_I've always been drawn to challenges at the sharp end of what is possible –initially with singing and acting beginning in middle school, then with climbing and mountaineering later on, and more recently with sea kayaking. Each is an opportunity to push my boundaries to their fullest extent, a stage set for me to perform in and give it my all. I am and will always be a performer, no doubt about that. But the thrill of doing something… extreme… can never be compared. My climbing life provided over a few years of intense experiences filled with joy and sorrow, hardships and euphoria. I lost my best friend Jeff to the mountains and frostbite took bits of Nick and Thad. Climbing is an extremely unforgiving past time._

_I was soon after introduced to kayaking by my former schoolmate and co-Warbler, Wes. Gradually, it became a bigger part of who I was and filled in the gap mountaineering had left behind. I was ecstatic to discover how intimately pleasurable the experience could be –it was almost like making love to the unchartered waters of the world. It excited the adventurer in me…_

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**FROM THE JOURNAL** **OF KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(September 25, 2018)**

I get a lot of flak for 'allowing' Blaine to continue with his adventures. Especially after he had almost died from frostbite, Summer of '16 when he summitted Everest in the Himalayas. He hurt his knees and the tip of his right middle finger had come off. Every one was hoping that I'd get him to stop after that.

In a way, I did. I, together with the injuries he had sustained, had stopped him from climbing mountains. But, it was only to lose him to yet another adrenalin-charged release: sea kayaking. His family, especially his mom was livid. But, there was nothing I could have done, truth be told.

Unfortunately, I was not the right person to discourage his adventurous spirit, contrary to popular belief. While I would never climb a mountain even under threat of dismemberment, I was still intrigued and awed by the whole idea of living off the fly. I admired Blaine's passion and dedication for all things uncertain.

Yes, there were many times in the past where I'd question his sanity, but never did I ever question my –our –ultimate safety. I believed in him. I trusted him. Blaine was self-assured, never arrogant. He exuded a quiet confidence on top of his naturally dapper manners that led to my unwavering faith in his abilities.

I remember one Sue Sylvester referring to him as 'Gay Clark Kent' –he is just that; A meek, mild, humble yet extraordinarily courageous being that just happened to be the Superman of my life.

He excelled in everything: school, performing, being a husband and a friend, and eventually, a father to little Xavier Blaine Anderson-Hummel. I remember the exact day when we took our boy home. Blaine pleasantly surprised me with how willingly he traded his gears for nappies and bottles. We spent many a-sleepless, boring nights doing parental duties.

But of course the wanderer's spirit in him could not be quashed for long. Adventure to him is like milk for a newborn baby.

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**FROM THE VIDEO DIARY OF BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(Uploaded: September 30, 2018; GMT +12 9:09 a.m.)**

"_Hey world," Blaine begins his usual report with a big smile. The sun appeared gloriously to his right. "Halfway through. Last night was rough. This is a trip that has taken me closer to the edge, nearer to my limit than my other trips." He shrugs. "Sometimes I do wonder if I am exceeding my limit. I've never done anything as hard as this and I hope I –well, never do anything as hard in the future,_

_I capsized a couple of days ago –something that made me feel really vulnerable. I am almost to the point of questioning my sanity –" A small chuckle escapes his weather-beaten lips. "I mean, it's windy. There are big waves. I'm in a kayak. I'm in the middle of nowhere (thank God there's still satellite service!) I'd rather be at home with my wonderful husband Kurt and our son Xavier. I just can't wait for this to finish. You know I live for adventure, but on this particular instance, it's just that… that far._

_I'm so extended and it's so dangerous and I'm just really looking forward to coming home to my boys. I hope for this to be over soon. I've only done 750 km. I've got to do 1660. I am afraid for once. But still, I think I can pull it off. I can, but it's going to be tough, I know. It will hardly be a walk in the park in the next few days…"_

_Blaine remains silent for a full minute, just gazing into the screen. Until he finally releases a deep breath,_

"_I will be back soon. I love you guys."_

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**A TEXT MESSAGE EXCHANGE BETWEEN KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL and HIS FATHER BURT HUMMEL**

**(October 5, 2018)**

KURT: I could sense Blaine's excitement through his text message early this morning, Dad. He'll be ¾ of the way in. _(SENT 3:05 p.m.)_

BURT: Pass along our prayers and congratulations, will you? You'd better come by for dinner once he gets back. Carole is adamant. And I miss my favorite grandson, _(SENT 3:10 p.m.)_

KURT: You're spoiling him too much. And he's your ONLY grandson. Will do, Dad. Take care. Love you and Carole. _(SENT 3:13 p.m.)_

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**FROM THE JOURNAL** **OF KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(October 6, 2018)**

If one can attest to the possibility of being in two places at the same time, it would be me. My body and mind was in our L.A. apartment, but my heart and soul was out in the Tasman Sea with my other half. It was a delicate balance, much like tightrope walking. I had to exist in this physical world filled with 3 year olds and deadlines for ELLE and family and friends. At the same time, I also had to be 'there' in the spiritual sense for Blaine –my Blaine who is somewhere out there, following his most basic instincts.

I long for the day, only about 9 days from now, when I'd run into the water and wrap my arms around him and cry for joy and relief. I had arranged it with Wes and his team for me to fly to New Zealand to surprise Blaine. I had managed to cash in my unused leaves for the past year, working for Elle. I'd even bring Xav along.

Blaine sent regular messages, but most of the time it was like deciphering the Da Vinci code. I guess being tossed to and fro the mighty ocean can upset even the strictest of grammar, punctuation and spelling rules.

It was Day 21. The message read:

**WIND 30KTS WNW SKYLOWCLD,RAIN. POS 4500S, 158 49E. NO PICNIC2DAY. 35KT NTH 4 MOST. WIL STARTMOVINGNTH. PRESUREAPROX 987UR WATCH OUT OF BATRY THIS MOR**

From the supporter's camp, an ecstatic Wes sent me a rough translation:

**Wind blows 30 knots west-northwest. The sky is cloudy and rain is imminent. My position is 45˚ south, 158˚49 east. It won't be easy. The wind will be 35 knots at most. I will start moving north. Air is approximately 987. My watch ran out of battery this morning…**

Barring the mishap with his watch, everyone was happy for Blaine. He was doing it! It will all be over soon.

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**FROM THE VIDEO DIARY OF BLAINE DEVON ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(Not Uploaded; Recorded: October 10, 2018; GMT +12 6:00 p.m.)**

"_I'd say I'd be ecstatic to be almost to the finish, but the prevailing emotion in me right now is relief," Blaine begins his video blog. "I think –and Kurt will be happy to hear this –that I've finally cured the adrenalin junkie in me." A carefree chuckle escapes Blaine's lips as the last rays of the sun depart behind him from a distance._

"_When I get back, I'll be auditioning for acting jobs. I'll be a stay-at-home dad. I'll even do the chores –" He flashes a mischievous grin towards the camera. "I'll let my lovely husband know just how much I've missed him. I think –I think that would be enough thrill for me for the rest of my days…"_

_Blaine's voice breaks, wear and dread, creeping in like a thief in the night._

"_I –I just hope to see you all soon. I love you always."_

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**FROM THE JOURNAL** **OF KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

**(October 12, 2018 GMT +12 9:30 a.m.)**

Day 27. Xavier and I flew into New Zealand. Wes and David welcomed us at the airport. Morale was high. Blaine's supporters have just received an update late last night:

_**BRING OUT THE POPPERS. HOME IN 3 DAYS. LOV U ALL**_

There had been some difficulties during the last few days, but everyone believed in Blaine. If anyone can do anything, he can. Trepidation and anxiety remained at the back of my mind however. I just want to be reunited with my husband. I will only breathe easy once I have him in my arms once more in one piece.

That night, our relatives surprised me by flying to NZ. It seemed that everybody was excited to welcome back our nomadic adventurer. Cooper would tell anybody who would listen how proud he is of his baby brother. Bottles were popped and early celebratory wishes were given. Everyone was in a festive mood.

Until I got a call from the New Zealand Rescue Coordination Center, early the following day... They had a video message from someone identifying themselves as 'kayak 1.' The quality was poor; it was hard to get recognition.

Dread flooded my soul. Could it be Blaine?

"Help. I need a rescue," the caller said.

"No, Blaine wouldn't say 'help'" I told them. I had limited knowledge of the SOP's and what-not during these situations, but I knew enough. I knew my husband. "He'd follow the proper protocols of distress at sea – he'd issue a mayday! That's not him!"

I just hoped against hope that Blaine was oblivious to it all and was merrily paddling somewhere out there –no matter how hard it was to convince myself that. The following night I was back in our hotel room getting Xav ready for bed.

"Dee? Will Dad be back soon?"

I forced myself to give him an encouraging smile before kissing his cheek and tucking him to bed. "Only one more sleep and we'll see him" It was past 10 and I was trying hard to pull myself together for him. Xav smiles his adorable lopsided grin at me, not unlike Blaine's. It tore my heart.

"He be back," Xav simply declares in his own 3 year old conviction. Soon, he is out like the light. I stood up from my position next to my sleeping son. There was a knock at the door.

It was Wes. And a policeman –a constable whose name I never caught. There was also a woman from Victim Support. Before Wes could speak, the woman took a step towards me, her arms outstretched. She was wearing a somber expression. I glared at her and pushed her away. I turned to Wes.

"What is she doing here?"

Wes looked equally terrified and devastated at the same time. He took the woman's position in front of me.

"Kurt… Blaine's kayak had been found. He –he isn't in it. They have searched for him since they first contacted us –"

It can't be real. Blaine can't be gone.

I remember pushing Wes away as the ground shook beneath my feet. The sea temperature averaged 16˚C. The US Government back home I was told, had intervened the night before when they heard that the New Zealand authorities had spoken of calling off the search. One more day, they had insisted…

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**FROM THE JOURNAL** **OF KURT ELIZABETH ANDERSON-HUMMEL**

This was it. The last day. October 15, 2018. The day Blaine was supposed to come home to me, I remember nothing else of it except for Wes and Cooper enveloping me in a tandem hug. Cooper sobbed against my hair as Wes pulled back and met my eyes with a serious gaze.

"Kurt, the search is over. Blaine has not been found."

My world dissolved completely.

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_**A/N: **__ Yeah, yeah, I know it's been a while since I actually posted anything at all. But that doesn't mean that I was lazing around doing nothing. I have tons of stuff written down. I just couldn't find time to actually finalize anything and upload them here on FFN or in my Tumblr Account. By the way, you can also check me and my stuff out at:_

FACEBOOK: **C.M. Oliver is Eastwoodgirl **(#cmoliverfanfiction)

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If you want to follow me, please don't be shy. Warning though: I talk mostly about Klaine and Snarry and Glee and Harry Potter and Music and Movies and Pop Culture and about the general unfairness of life (yeah, a lot of those things).

Anyhow, I'm glad you took time to read this. Again, please don't forget to drop me a review! They fuel my desire to post. And thanks in advance. Love, C.


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